Søren Kierkegaard to Regine Olsen – October 20 1840 (translated by Henric Rosenmeier)

My Regine!
.......................... And winter came, and flowers withered, but some he took in and saved from the cold. And he sat by the window and, filled with yearning, held them up. But the life in them was too week, and in order to preserve it if possible, he crushed them in his hand, and they died; but one drop remained, which, born in pain, has an immortality that only the fragrance of flowers and old melodies have.

Take at once my letter on its long journey!

Genie of the Ring:

Thou never hadst such quick conveyance!

Your eternally, S.K.

EK: Quoted from memory from  Adam Oehlenschläger "Aladdin , or, The wonderful lamp".

Søren Kierkegaard to Regine Olsen – no date (translated by Henric Rosenmeier) - 5

My Regine!

Three weeks ago today you were expecting a letter from me, but I did not write. Alas, to whom could I have entrusted that letter? Do you remember the poem, "The Fiddler at the Fountain" ? Much of it is very beautiful, but what appeals to me most is that he confides only in "the light dancer of the woods"" the fish, the bird, the mouse etc. Of course, I know that this is not really in the poem, and that if some people were to see these lines, they would accuse me of having read much more into the poem than was there originally. So be it. Why should that concern me as long as you undestand me, as long as we have a secret bond that remains a mystery to everyone else, not only because it is confided mutely, but because it speaks a language that you alone understand, and I, when you have understood me. But three weeks ago you expected me to write and not to come calling - and today you expect me to come calling and not to write. What if I were to do both! (However, I shall probably not call until twelve o'clock in order to escort you to my aunt's in Gothersgade.) In truth, I come, I write, I think, I speak and falter and sigh, and my room resounds with my monologues, and in you alone, my sole confidante, dare I confide what it is that now boisterously wells up in me and then again is lost in silent reverie  - in you alone dare I confide - what you have confided in me. For know that every time you repeat that you love me from the deepest recesses  of your soul, it is as though I heard it for the first time, and just as a man who owned the whole world would need a lifetime to survey his splendors, so I also seem to need a lifetime to contemplate all the riches contained in your love. Know that every time you thus solemnly assure me that you always love me equally well, both when I am happy and when I am sad, most when I am sad - because you know is divine nostalgia and everything good in man is sorrow's child - know that then you are rescuing a soul from Purgatory. You know that the Catholic Church teaches that the prayers of the faithful succor the souls in Purgatory; I know that this is true, and each time you speak of you love, I cease to hear the rattling of the chains; then I am free [in the margin: "He (Eros) brings peace to mankind, rest to the stormy sea; he bids the winds be silent, and he lulls sorrow into slumber"], infinitely free like a bird on the wing; then I am free, and happy in my freedom, and am myself a witness to my own happiness, while formely I was both prisoner and my own jailer.

Yours eternally, S.K.

Whenever you catch a breath of that heliotrope at home, which is still fresh, please think of me, for truly my mind and my soul are turned toward this sun, and I have a deep longing for you, thou sun amongst women.

Søren Kierkegaard to Regine Olsen – no date (translated by Henric Rosenmeier) - 4

My Regine!

Es endet Schmerz

So wie der Scherz

So wie die Nacht

Eh' man's gedacht.

(Grief ceases 

As does jesting

As does the night

Before one expected it to do so.

 L.A. von Arnim, Halle und Jerusalem)

The other day when you came to see me you told me that when you were confirmed your father presented you with a bottle of lily of the valey (Extrait double de Muguet). Perhaps you thought that I did not hear this, or perhaps you thought that it had slipped by my ear like so much else that finds no response within. But not at all! But as that flower conceals itself so prettily within its big leaf, so I first allowed the plan of sending you the enclosed to conceal itself in the hals-transparent veil of oblivion so that, freed from every external consideration, even the most illusive, rejuvenated to a new life in comparison with which its first existence was but earthly life, it might now exude that fragrance for which longing and memory ("from the spring of my youth") are rivals. However, it was nearly impossible for me to obtain this essence in Copenhagen. Yet in this respect there is also a providence, and the blind god of love always finds a way. You happen to receive it at this very moment ( just before you leave the house), because I know that you, too, know the infinity of the moment. I only hope it will not be too late. Hasten, my messanger, hasten my thought, and you, my Regine, pause for an instant, for only a moment stand still.

Yours eternally, S.K.